The Probelms of being Wicked
by KennKirk
Summary: Alfred knew he was being foolish, but that just who he was. A young bigwig politician running around in the Soviet Union during the height of the Cold War. Both nations so tense and on guard that the leaders probably need like three massages a day. But you know, what's wrong with gallivanting off into the heart of Russia with another business man?


Normal – Russian

_Italics- English_

Alfred knew he was being foolish, but that just who he was. A young bigwig politician running around in the Soviet Union during the height of the Cold War. Both nations so tense and on guard that the leaders probably need like three massages a day.

But you know, what's wrong with gallivanting off into the heart of Russia with another business man, looking to destroy the secret police and the other stuff going on behind the iron curtain?

Alfred was a young prodigy of the CSI, who had been working extensively getting into a higher position with some political sway in the government. But due to his real area, he was mostly unknown. His pal Arthur, the insane bastard that actually bought all the tickets and purchased a traveling visa, making this entire thing possible, was a business man like no bodies business.

Ha-ha pun. No but seriously, when Alfred had received no funding from the government for his little excursion into Russia to go spy on some commies, he had phone Arthur up for some back up. Within 20 minutes Arthur called back and asked "the government will like to know how much money you will be needing for this trip"

But that was Arthur, skinny and puny (well Alfred thought so because he was around 6 foot himself, in reality Arthur was really only about 5 foot 10) and very easy to underestimate.

Unfortunately for Alfred, who claimed that incidents like these where Arthur show the side of himself that had stuck him in prison for the five years of his adolescents, as the Hero. Incidents like these where the ones where Alfred underestimated just how much Vodka Arthur could consume.

So here Alfred was, in the heart of Russia, in the cooling autumn night. Sitting on a dingy train with Arthur trying to sign some sort of Beatles song. Groaning Alfred shoved Arthur away from him, disgusted at the odor of alcohol wafting off of the English man in his drunken stupor. The train stopped, and what once was an empty carriage, now had a girl with an old man lumbering after her drunk as can be. Alfred glanced over, tripping over his own mind if he could. She was beautiful. Long blonde locks rolled down her shoulder, and her dress, rich navy blue that hung off her of small frame in complementary ways. Alfred then stepped back from mind absorbing her prettiness to notice that the dress its self was cheap low cut, and how ripped her thick tights were, how unclean and matted her hair was, and how gaunt and irritated she looked.

As she sat down the drunk man sat beside her pulling her into his lap. She shook her head saying something quietly in Russian. But the man did not seem to notice and his palms trailed further up her skirt.

Blushing Alfred looked away, fiddling with his glasses, something her really didn't need but added to the disguise he was trying to pull off. And well, they were reading glasses he was nearsighted, but barely. He glancing through the black window shifting uncomfortably as he could perfectly see the image of what was going on across from him and the ever drunk Arthur. Now she was struggling and he could hazily make out the words.

"I'm not working." "Go away." "Leave me alone."

Having enough Alfred stood up marching over to the struggle. The man looked up stumbling onto this swaying feet, he stood easily a head shorter than Alfred and his leathery skin hauled over his face showing off the sharp bone structure. He began to bark loudly in Russian, Alfred rolled his eyes not bothering to understand what he was saying, as he decked him. The man staggered back grasping his bleeding nose before growling and barking again in Russian. Before Alfred could say anything, a fist caught him hard across his cheek. Growling, Alfred grasped the man's other fist twisting it hard behind his back forcing the drunk man to spin. Then he knocked the man's head against a nearby pole, waiting for the next train stop. When it came he threw the man to the ground leaving him unconscious.

Stepping back to the desolated train, the door swooshed closed behind him and he looked at the girl. She was eyeing him carefully her eyes pricing blue. The colour that whispered ice blue, Russian blue eyes. She had her arms wrapped around her knees with her head resting on it, her thick hair draped over for extra warmth.

Oh, Alfred shifted nervously, she was cold. He stepped up to her peeling off his warm bomber jacket with great reluctance. She just peered up through black lashes, saying nothing, but her eyes working a mile a minute as she contemplated.

She didn't take the jacket either.

"Look here." Alfred said rolling his eyes at the forming head ache that would surface fully in a few minutes, "I don't want your services, and it's a kind deed."

"I don't need help." She snapped, her voice surprisingly low for such a tiny girl

Alfred sighed throwing the coat over top her head, "Look it's free, it's also the middle of November and it's cold. Take the stupid jacket and be grateful."

He marched back over to where Arthur was now fast asleep, his head sinking so low it looked like it should have just snapped off and rolled away. Even from the awkward distance she eyed him carefully, and he stared right back at the prostitute. Finally he had his stop. Struggling he dragged Arthur off the train feeling those piercing eyes bore through his back the entire time.

Now he swore. Left alone in the freezing night it was well past midnight, and he still had no idea where his hotel was. Damn it the drunk should help him.

Slapping Arthur across the face he opened his blurry eyes, "Whanau"

"Where is the hotel stupid?" Alfred tried, at the look of utter confusion he repeated himself in English this time

His brows furrowed as he contemplated life. Arthur then gave a mumble, so incoherent that if Alfred wasn't fluent in Drunk Arthurianese, he would have been in trouble. He stumbled along calling his partner nasty names in every language he knew when he finally stepped into the Hotel lobby and out of the frigid cold. Up the steps in near darkness, because the lights where off and he was half asleep, then stumbled into the room leaving Arthur to sleep on the floor by the entrance, and Alfred collapsed on the bed, dead asleep.

Alfred woke to a low moan. And it wasn't that sexy moan of a person raring to go, it was the moan of a man in utter agony from a nasty hangover.

It made Alfred laugh, lying on the bed warm under the piles of thick down blankets. Glancing over Alfred stared as Arthur rolled slowly on the floor clutching his head, muttering and swearing about the drink of the devil himself. Alfred who was never much of a drinker himself, only really took people like Arthur out, for this very reason. To see them swear and curse the living daylights out of the Devil for tempting them with his tantalizing nectar that burned down their throats as they drank.

And the fact that Arthur had probably the worst hangovers Alfred had ever seen made up for the fact that he was one of the worst drunks.

"Having fun down there?" Alfred smiled stretching in the cool sunlight, it was colder in the room today, and he shivered rubbing his arms and pulling the thick quilt closer to him. Arthur must have been cold, too but Alfred dismissed that. It time Arthur stared gain some responsibility around the spirits.

"I will never drink again." Arthur moaned curled up so his head was hidden inside his jacket, "_It's bloody cold, Alfred pass something warm." _

Laughing Alfred shook his head even though the man couldn't see him, "Good morning to you too lazy but, I had to drag your drunken ass half way across town."

"_Why won't the light shut up?"_

Alfred rolled his eyes leaving his friend in misery on the floor as he marched over to the bathroom, turning on another cold shower. Man these, Russian have got to have amazing tolerance to the cold. An hour later dress and ready to go, with coffee and toast waiting in the dingy kitchen, Arthur was still lying on the floor. Having fallen asleep once more.

"Ok, Artie. How can you sleep on the floor like that?" Alfred asked, fixing his tie as he kicked Arthur's side waking him up, "Yo. How can you sleep on the floor like that?"

"I can bloody well sleep where ever I want."

Alfred rolled his eyes flicking off the lint from his pristine suit, "No idiot; how can you sleep like that? Aren't you sore old man?"

"I am 27 arse hat." Arthur growled

Alfred chuckled, "Yet still single, and still an alcoholic. Come on, we have a meeting today with a big dude remember?"

Arthur stared back completely confused… suddenly he leap to his feet dashing around the flat.

"_You utter GIT_! How could you let me drink yesterday when we are meeting Mr. Braginski himself TODAY?"

"Slipped my mind." Alfred mused, sipping his coffee, enjoying the bitter flavor and how it shocked his sense awake, "Hey have you seen our papers? We were going over them last night before you got stuck in a pub. Where did you put them?"

"I gave them to you remember, it your jacket." Arthur shouted from the bathroom a tooth brush in his mouth and his other hand straightening out his hair, "I was going drinking, that means getting bloody smashed."

"Artie, we are Russian. We do not get bloody smashed." Alfred snorted, laughing as Arthur flipped him the bird.

"I put it in your brown leather jacket. Where is it?"

Alfred looked around the disarray of cloths that he and Arthur had somehow managed at accumulate through the two weeks they had been here. The he froze recalling exactly what had happened last night.

"_Oh shhhaving cream_"

Arthur looked out of the bath room his eyes still swollen and red, his hair still greasy and dirty, and his jaw completely covered with shaving cream.

"What?" he snarled

Alfred smiled, his best politician smile that won over the hearts of so many, maybe except his brother and Arthur.

"Don't give your- I majorly f' ed up but I will hide it with my charming good looks- smile. What did you do?" Arthur growled stepping closer to Alfred.

"Well you were plastered and there was this girl, and she was cold so I kind of…"

"You didn't…" His jaw dropped, oh the anger in Arthur's eyes was almost enough to make Alfred jump on the next plane to America; if only that was possible now.

"I gave it to this girl on the train." Alfred grinned feebly wishing Arthur would notice how heroic that originally was.

"_You complete and utter… THOSE WHERE OUR VISAS LICENCES, AND EVERYTHING WE NEED TO NOT BE SHOT OR ARRESTED!" _

Alfred flinched, man for a hung over guy he could still really yell.

"_YOU IDIOT!" _Yep, yep that was true in this case. Arthur then proceeded to swear in every language he knew, which happened to be quite a few, with every insult he knew, which nearly exceeded all the words in the English language. And Alfred felt bad for the first thirty seconds but then grew bored and went to go make more coffee.

Which only made Arthur yell louder, now switching to Portuguese swears. Alfred, his ears ringing nearly turned around and decked the smaller man; luckily he didn't, while he would win especially since Arthur was still inebriated he couldn't afford to risk stupid moves. Not when there was a big reality that they were posing as tourists, and hanging around visiting big politicians because of their social standing as rich business owners looking to set up a franchise in Russia. Not as political spies both trained in the army, and well versed in everything secret or hidden within the American government itself.

But now the papers where gone, they might have to rethink the tourist thingy.

"Arthur. Stop yelling you're going to give yourself a heart attack." Alfred interrupted calmly, his panic shutting down his regular enthusiasm forcing him into this calm state "We can either run now. Or play it out, forage a few documents and look for the girl. She was a prostitute, blonde, pretty, smaller about 5 foot 5. Looked to be very Russian, with the jaw and everything."

Arthur gave Alfred a ridiculous look, but he could tell that Arthur agreed with everything, "Yes because there is only about 2 million women half a million which are prostitutes Alfred."

"Would you like to run?"

Arthur glared at Alfred sighing he turned back to finish shaving his face. Running was not an option right now. They still had to meet a few business men, and by God Alfred' boss going to be mad when he finds out Alfred had given his papers to some prostitute he didn't even get the name of. He almost rather face the wrath of some Russians than have to go home and be degraded by his bosses, probably fired because of how they even got here in the first place. Damn Arthur and his shady methods.

Speaking of which the said man walked out of the room, his dress shirt slim and formal with a dark gray vest over top. He grabbed his black trench coat, and gray scarf.

"These Russians need to see the colour wheel." Arthur muttered, before snorting, "Man Francis would throw a fit."

Alfred, just nodded at the one sided joke. He never really met Arthur's other friends, well he knew his girlfriend, or friend that was a girl but they were way to close, and bordering past friends with benefits; Port (well really Jorge María Andréia Cardozo, but they called her Port) But that was about it. They never really discussed much past insulting each other. Hell if Arthur even knew one of Alfred's friends; he probably didn't even know about Alfred's brother.

"Aright let's go." Alfred opened the door stepping out along with Arthur. For a second in the hall ways they walked step for step, and it reminded Alfred of the Super Hero comics he was still obsessed with. And it made him feel epic and cool.

Then he got out side, into the bitter Russian wind. And he was actually cold.

The office building held the eerily resemblance to a tomb stone. It reminded Alfred of his grandfather's grave. Big dark and silence. Even though the people held the usual buzz of life all around them; even though Arthur was still muttering fiercely about how damn cold it was and how his brains where going to freeze to the side's on his skull if they didn't get out of the wind soon. The building seeming blended into the gray sky, and made the entire thing look massive, like the clouds. Swirling and waiting for the moment to snow.

What the building would snow down was a difficult question. Alfred really liked the snow, so it was a disappointing connection. But the building looked like dark storm clouds found only in climate that held both the suffering of winter and the beauty of summer's joys. It looked like it could fit into some of the smaller cities in northern Canada, if it lost about 15 floors. But he would never admit that out loud. But the part that made him laugh was the bright cheery buildings beside the newer lifeless ones. It was ironic and Alfred found himself enjoying the contrast a little more than he probably should. They marched up in through the doors relaxing in under the warm gush of air that enveloped them stinging their cheeks, making them throb under the sudden warmth. Alfred pulled off his glass whipping his nose with his sleeve absentmindedly.

He spotted a young man walking towards them with a small timid gait. Smiling brightly Alfred put his glasses back on trying to give his biggest rosy- cheek smile as possible.

"Hello?" he man asked, he straighten his back as if he had suddenly noticed his slouch, "How many I help you?"

Alfred grinned already pulling off his scarves and mittens. The smaller man, even shorter than Arthur, Alfred noticed in amusement just shifted awkwardly brushing his brown locks back behind his ear.

"American?" The man asked softly, "Your Russian is quite good."

Alfred glanced up, worry flashing across Arthur's face. His partner stepped up to the plate, having a sudden idea.

"Born there yes." Arthur lied easily, "We moved her young. We are citizens though."

The man just stared; and Alfred cleared his throat. Ok so they were lying about their identity, well that was a little confusing but if they were citizen they wouldn't have to show their id, or papers.

"I am Andrey, this is my companion Nikita." Alfred introduced ignored the utter look of annoyance that cross Arthur's face, "We are brothers."

The man nodded still confused, but seemed to settle with the idea after he gave a small smile, "Oh alright then. I am presuming you would like to see Mr. Braginski? Do you have an appointment?"

They didn't actually, and that was probably the only thing saving their skins at the moment.

"No, we are here from a recommendation from a comrade of Mr. Braginski. A certain General…?" Arthur filled in, keeping his chin annoyingly stiff, a habit he does when he can either piss his pants or march through it.

The smaller man nearly jumped out of his skin, "Oh General Timur? Oh I am sorry to keep you dawdling for so long!"

The man seemed beside himself in a sudden flurry of anxiousness. Apparently the General, neither of them had really met but been snooping around long enough to hear that he was the beginning of the Russian Mafia, or the secret Police, seemed to be well known to the poor man.

He dashed over to the ugly wooden desk, crashing into it in is hast. The lamp fell crashing to the floor as it rolled away. Stacks of papers flying off the small wooden frame. As the man wrenched open drawers from the opposite side narrowly missing his chugging computer as it thought carefully about its existence.

"OH I'm sorry!" The man cry a few times before he found what he was looking for, an old voice message thingy. He pressed a button and a deep voice filtered in through the speaker.

"What is it Toris." The voice sounded annoyed, and nasty like the person on the other side was suffering from an equally nasty hang over as Arthur.

"Two men are here to see you sir, General Timur sent them. Andrey and Nikita…" he paused blushed, "What is your last names?"

"Tolstoy." Arthur responded smoothly

The man faltered, and blinked then clicking the voice mover thingy back on, "Andrey and Nikita Tolstoy."

"Tolstoy?" Mr. Braginski asked, he sounded curious as his voice was a little higher and friendlier then where Toris, the man had first called, "bring them up Toris."

He nodded turning back to the two men, blushing he gestured towards the stair case, "Mr. Braginski's office is one the 30th story. I can lead you up there…?"

Flabbergasted Alfred balked, but he nodded weakly.

"We should be fine sir." Alfred said, "It is the whole 30th floor?"

The man snorted, "It is the whole building all 35 stories."

Well for 35 stories the place seemed very dead, like not every many people worked here. Judging from the dirt and dingy yellow lights that flickered from time to time, Alfred had to wonder what a man with the man as revered as Braginski was doing with all the money he seemly owned.

Arthur nodded already opening the door to the poorly light stair well. Alfred turned to follow him but stopped.

"You knew we are foreigners. How can you tell?"

The man laughed bending down to pick up the piles of unsorted paper engulfing his feet, "You had too many scarfs and mittens on. It's not very cold out today. Only -10."

Alfred stared then snorted laughing.

"The other thing is that you smile too much." The man muttered half to himself, "But that is more forgivable, plenty of people still smile."

"Andrey." Arthur snapped already on the next floor.

"Thank you. Coming Nikita!"

Alfred hurried after his partner leaping up the steps three at a time. When he caught up with Arthur they continued their brisk pace.

"Tolstoy huh?" Alfred snorted

"Only name I remember from school." Arthur replied shortly, "Only one that wasn't too big."

"Yes except he was a supporter of the Tsar in 1866, and supressed a bunch of ideas until the Tsar was murdered." Alfred snorted.

"Shut up Andrey." Arthur snorted which sharp accusation in his tone, Alfred rolled his eyes.

Getting the papers for Andrey and Nikita Tolstoy would be easier blending into the situation they were in at the moment. Mr. Braginski was a name that they had come across once or twice in America but had chosen to ignore, since he didn't have much presence. He wasn't in the government and did not appear to have much sway. But here in the Russia? Whole new story.

Everyone knew the name. He owned the majorities of the company, and for the most part seemed to have a very large say in the secret police. There had been rumours that he ran the entire organization; but those where difficult to prove.

Originally the plan was to introduce themselves as tow business men born and raised in America and weasel their way into this operation. But having lost their documents, and since Arthur already probably was contemplating how they could forge citizenships. They were citizens of Russia born and raised in America moved back to Russia. Minor details like how to get that into the government files will come later. Beside that was all Arthur's work. Alfred was here to do the actual information, he was the face of the project. Arthur sorted out the details.

"Nikita, are the documents?"

Alfred looked over to where Arthur was staring off into distance, quickly writing incomprehensible words into a little note book of his. Alfred had stolen it once out of curiosity. It was mostly pictures, and a few words covered in pages of Welsh. Apparently Welsh and was his mother tongue. He had learnt English as a second language at school, but spoke Welsh to his family. Needless to say Alfred couldn't read it.

"Settled" Arthur muttered writing down a few more symbols, he snapped the little black book closed stuffing it in his pocket.

Alfred smirked, excellent. Time for his own charm.

"They think with all that money they would be able to afford elevators." Alfred used as they reached the 20th story, "God, no wonder Russians are in shape. Image climbing this every day?"

"Careful or we might just be." Arthur mused.

"I plan to." Alfred vowed, turning once again as the stupid building spiraled every upwards in dizzying cycle.

Finally they reached Mr. Braginski's office. Opening the solid door they were met with a bright room, filled with a wide view of the skyline of Moscow. Off to one side a wide desk sat with a massive library filled with all sorts of books, and a pleasant ladder to reach to the top of the room. It wasn't a large room, the ceiling was lower than what could have been expected. And the lush red carpet made the room feel wider than it truly was.

Alfred shuffled around, feeling his confidence grow as he inspected the room, careful not to touch but examine. The carpet was a warm red, a library filling one full side of the room, approximately… 4 of Alfred's arm length across. The other side beside the left hand side of the desk was a large bay window, with window seat filled with lush cushions of various shades. Most of them where hand embroidered, an old type of Russian or Ukrainian embroidery that indicated authentic. On the other side, about two of Alfred's arm length was a large picture of sun flowers, and a little cottage soaking in the mid- summer sun. Then there was simply wall, plain boring. Through the warm gray brown colour did try and liven the room up a little.

The desk was large and ordinate, beautiful hand carved and easily worth Alfred's paycheck. Probably about twice as much as the little man at the front, Toris made in his entire life. There was nothing on it, except for a cup filled with cold tea, off to one side an expensive brand of good Vodka, a pen holder and a little ballerina paper weight.

The door off to the right side on the empty wall opened. What should have been a man but Alfred more liked to describe as a giant marched out. He was massive, with the build that spoke broad and muscular.

Now Alfred was not a thin, or short man by any stretch, but the monster that came out of the door, made Alfred feel more like a mosquito than he ever had.

Mr. Braginski, was large, reaching about 6 foot 8. Broad shoulders, and a thick stocky jaw that created a masculine well framed face. He had a large nose, and big dark eyes, that held a strange colour to them. Alfred ignored the eye colour, he was not interested in getting close enough to really see what colour they are. He wasn't wearing a suit but rather a black coat and white scarf embroidered with beautiful red thread. . He pulled off his coat revealing a white dress shirt and a dark red tie.

"Mr. Tolstoy?" Mr. Braginski spoke. Alfred blink, his voice was high. Much higher than whoever answered the recoding message, and much higher than a man this stocky and with that thick a neck and frame should have.

"Andrey Tolstoy." Alfred greeted meeting Mr. Braginski's hand, "I quiet like your office if I may say so myself. Very impressive."

It wasn't a compliment, but rather a statement that really said 'wow you have a lot of money. How did you get it?'

Mr. Braginski nearly crushed Alfred's hand with his bear like grip, "Oh thank you, I must say, you're would be so much more impressive judging by your suit."

Alfred nearly smirked, he noticed after all. Not many politicians did; it was exhilarating the threat of a new prey to haunt and torn apart slowly.

"This is my brother, Nikita Tolstoy." Alfred introduced Arthur came up firmly shaking the bear's hand.

Mr. Braginski smiled, and it cooled the warm room slightly. But Alfred was ready for the chase.

"Why don't you two have a seat? I have a feeling we will have a lot to talk about."

Alfred plopped himself down into the lush leather chair leaning forward, his elbows resting on the arms as his chin rested on his entertained hands.

**If you like this, let me know and I might continue. If not, then the end.**


End file.
